


Let's go out in a blaze of glory

by crumbsfiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, falling!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumbsfiction/pseuds/crumbsfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After rebelling against heaven, Castiel finds himself searching for the missing pieces of his grace. Meanwhile, he is falling, the remaining grace in his body slowly draining away and his mind becoming more and more human as time passes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's go out in a blaze of glory

# 

It all starts with a bloody palm against the wall and Castiel thinks that maybe, he’s going to die. 

He knows what he’s doing, this time. It’s not bending the rules or stretching the regulations, it’s rebelling. A sharp pang in his chest and they all _know,_ murmurs of Enochian in his head speaking of the betrayal of Castiel, angel of Thursday.

In a heartbeat, he takes flight with Dean in tow and they appear in the run-down kitchen of the prophet Chuck Shirley. Castiel can’t help but think that right now, that man is far more holy than himself.

He sends Dean away along with a prayer for his safety as well as one for his brother and a promise that he hopes he’ll be able to keep, at least long enough for Dean to succeed.

Raphael appears in a beam of light and fixes his stare on Chuck, who backs away until his back hits the far wall. The archangel averts his stare to Castiel instead, fixing him with unforgiving eyes.

“You should not have done this, Castiel,” he speaks with a rumbling voice, like a faraway thunderstorm.

“Maybe not,” Castiel agrees, “but what is done is done and cannot be undone again”.

“This was always going to happen, you know” the archangel says and his voice softens, just a tad. “The apocalypse. Where Fathers greatest piece of art would be wrecked forever. Do you really think that two mortal boys, so fragile and weak, would stand a chance against destiny itself? Your faith has been weakened by these mindless creatures, little brother.”

“No,” Castiel says slowly, and he looks up into the eyes of his superior for the first time since he arrived. “I have faith in him.” 

Castiel is fast, bur Raphael is faster, silver blades clashing once, twice and then Castiel’s blade clatter to the ground. “You don’t stand a chance against me,” Raphael says and lifts his hand. “Why even bother?” Then the archangel snaps his fingers and as he explodes, Castiel’s last thought is that yes, he’s definitely going to die, and he sends one last prayer to the Winchester brothers, destined to change the world.

Raphael disappears in a flutter of wings not a second later and Chuck is left standing in his kitchen, wondering where his life went so insanely, horribly wrong.

-

As Castiel’s vessel explodes, so does the grace he’s carrying within it. Shards of blinding light shatter and blow away like leaves in the wind and for a while, Castiel floats in dark nothingness. The only thing he hears is a soft pounding somewhere behind him and he thinks that he can hear the flutter of wings, but maybe that’s just his imagination. 

Then, something inside his consciousness _tugs_ and he feels his grace coming back together like pieces in a puzzle. The shining shards of bright energy fit together perfectly, almost like they are eager to put the angel back in one piece. They gather together, fitting their angles and sharp spikes together and Castiel tries to reach out to them, take them back, inside of him and-

His eyes snap open, looking up to a clear blue sky, and the smell of something and faintly sweet fills his nose. He feels wet grass under his fingers and he tries wiggling them experimentally. Feeling the strands move against his fingers sends an impulse up his spine and he quickly tugs his hand away from the grass and places it on his stomach instead. _It tickles,_ Castiel realizes.

His head spins as he sits up and the angel has to support himself with a hand on a trembling knee in order to be able to stand up properly (and if he sees a glimpse of a dirty bathrobe in the corner of his eye it’s most likely a trick of the light).

Castiel isn’t prepared for he sees as he looks up from the ground and for a while, he simply stares in shock. It’s like someone has emptied out a few buckets of paint over the world and the trees and grass has absorbed it into the very core of themselves.

 He’s standing in the middle of a small meadow and all he sees is _green._ The colours are more intense than he has ever seen before. He sees the bark of the trees, a deep brown, and underneath it, life pulsating through it in heavy flows. It’s old, Castiel thinks and feels the rustling of leaves copied in his wings. Oh, that’s right, his _wings._

He spreads them as far as they can go and groans as the muscles connected to his shoulder blades stretch out. Twisting his head to take a look at the feathers, he’s once again left staring for a few moments before his mind can comprehend what it’s seeing. 

The tips of his usually brilliant white wings have turned a light grey and as he touches them, a single feather comes loose in his hand. Castiel shoves it in a pocket of his trench coat and takes flight. 

It doesn’t take long to find the Winchester brothers. They’re in a ratty motel in Ohio when he lands in their room, hair windswept from the flight. Sam is sitting by the computer and Dean has his nose buried in a book with mercilessly tiny text detailing the habits of shifters. Both brothers look up as Castiel arrives and Dean immediately jumps to his feet, forgotten book thumping against the floor. 

“Cas!” he half-says, half-shouts and Castiel almost jumps, not at the rough tone of his voice, but at what he _sees._ The angel is fairly sure he can count every freckle on Dean’s nose and have his eyes always been so _green?_ He sees Dean’s lips moving but he doesn’t register what actually comes out of his mouth until the hunter snaps, “Cas? Earth to Cas, are you in there?” and Castiel manages out, “Your eyes are really green, Dean,” before he collapses into the taller man’s arms, consciousness lost. 

-

When he comes to, Castiel is on his back on one of the lumpy twin sized beds, head propped up on two pillows. 

On the nightstand on his left side is a glass of water and- _oh._ The feather, the one with the grey tip is right next to it. Either one of the boys dug through his pockets or it simply fell out while he was out cold. 

Dean is sitting in an armchair by the far window, book open in his lap. He’s looking down at the pages but his eyes aren’t moving and as Castiel shifts on the bed, his gaze immediately dart up to meet Castiel’s. Sam is nowhere in sight.

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asks, a hint of concern in the baritone of his voice.

Castiel groans and sits up, brushing dust from the covers. “I’m fine. I apologize if I startled you. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Then what was it?” Dean asks, balancing the open book turned up-side-down on the armrest of his chair. “You show up out of the blue and just pass out? Something’s wrong, man. You gotta tell me what’s going on here. Something after you? You piss off one of the big guys upstairs?” 

Castiel just shakes his head. “No. No, I haven’t been back. Not since…. You killed her, right? Lilith?”

Dean looks down into his lap. “Yeah, we- we did. I was too late. Sam had already got her by the time you zapped me over. Ruby went down with her too, so at least one good thing came out of it. Never liked the little bitch.”

The angel says nothing in reply, so Dean continues, “We talked to Chuck, you know, after everything had cooled down a bit. He said- he said you died back there, fighting the archangel. You gotta tell me what happened, Cas. Chuck said you like- exploded. Your body.”

Castiel looks up and is one again startled by the intensity of the green in Dean’s eyes. He thinks he can see a speck or two of brown and maybe some yellow right by the iris.  He could stare into them forever, but is once again snapped back to reality by Dean’s “Cas?”

Castiel nods and fiddles with the hem of his trench coat. “I… yes. I did. I was dead, Dean. And put back together.”

“Condolences, then,” Dean says and rises from the armchair, sitting down next to Castiel instead. “And welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, turning so that he can see Dean’s face properly. 

“You know who did it?” Dean asks, and adds, “Your little resurrection act, I mean. It’s not like it’s happening every day, unless your last name is Winchester, of course. Maybe we’re rubbing this whole twisted nine lives-business onto you, who the hell knows.”

Castiel is silent for a moment, and then, “It was God, Dean. It’s the only possible solution.” He half-expects Dean to crack a sarcastic comment about the Father and how he’s never done anything to help before, but instead he just nods, fiddling with the amulet around his neck.

“Makes sense, I suppose.” A beat. “I’m glad you’re back, Cas. Looks like we’ve got a whole new kind of party started here, and we could use all the help we can get. If you want to, of course.”

Castiel nods. “He must have taken me back for a reason. I believe this was it; to help you stop the Devil, put him back in the cage. It’s only logical. There’s something you should know though, if you promise not to tell Sam? Not yet, anyway.” Dean gives him a slow nod, and Castiel proceeds to tell him everything he experienced from the moment he woke up in the meadow a few hours ago. The changed vision, the grey feathers on his back. Dean listens intently, and when Castiel is done, he asks, “So what does that mean? You’re still an angel right? I mean, you zapped over here, and you’ve got your wings intact.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “I am still an angel, but I believe-“ He stops.

“What, Cas?”

“I think I’m missing parts of my grace, Dean. It was put back together along with my vessel, but there’s… empty spots. Like a puzzle with pieces missing.”

“And you have to find them again?” Dean asks, and Castiel is surprised with how fast the hunter caught on.

“Exactly. They shattered everywhere in the explosion, but… I believe I can find them again.  Father would not have put me back incomplete as a mistake; this is most likely a trial of some sort. To prove my worth.” Castiel states.

Dean snorts. “Dude, you tried to help with stopping the breaking of the seals. The guys upstairs should give you a friggin’ promotion or something. Polish your halo, or whatever is the norm up there.”

“The angels won’t give me anything,” Castiel snaps, brow furrowed in anger. “I’m cut off from heaven, Dean. Until I can find my grace again, I’m falling, just like Lucifer was all those years ago. I can’t go back there, I can’t go home, Dean. I’m cast out, because of you. I rebelled for you, and you failed.” And with that, the angel stands up, swaying a little on his feet while the room spins on front of him for a few seconds before settling down. He allows himself to enjoy the sight of Dean Winchester shocked into silence (which is not a common sight) for a few moments before he adds, “I’ll be in touch.” Before Dean can say anything in reply, Castiel takes flight, feather forgotten on the nightstand.

-

Castiel travels, and as he walks on the ground, he feels connected ( _bound_ ) to it in a way he never was before. 

In Paris, an old lady starts screaming in a hoarse voice as he walks by. _“Sauve-moi”_ , she cries, _“sauve-moi”_ , until she is silenced by a shopkeeper, yelling at her to be quiet. He shoots her a glance over a trench-coated shoulder and spreads his wings as far as they can go, tips brushing against the red brick walls of either sides of the street. He idly wonders how much of them she can see before he turns by the corner of the block and disappears, light gray feathers in flames behind him.

Castiel has always prided himself on having nice-looking wings. A bit ruffled, sure, but they were a brilliant pearly white that made up for any stray feathers sticking out in the wrong directions. Unlike Zachariah, he only had one set but they were strong and wide and they could take him anywhere he wanted. 

Balthazar used to look at them in silent envy, him having two smaller pairs of golden wings with a couple of tattered patches, feathers ripped out in the countless battles they had fought together, feathers that could never grow back.

Castiel thinks of Dean and the smell of his leather jacket mixed with oil from the Impala. His steady hands and that rare smile that reaches his eyes and makes them light up like emeralds by a fire and Castiel wonders how his wings would look if he were an angel, too.

Another feather comes loose in his hand and it is ashy gray against his palm. Flying, a task once so easy, natural, like breathing is for humans, is becoming more and more difficult the more he does it. When he reaches the motel room the Winchester boys are currently staying in, he’s breathing hard and sweat is threatening to break out on his temples. The grace remaining in his body is draining away every time he uses his wings and simple things like healing a wound is practically impossible now. Dean has been telling him to lay of the flying for a while, travel with him and Sam in the Impala, take it easy. Sam, who still doesn’t know about the falling just looks at them with an odd expression while Castiel and his brother are huddled ( _Dean would kill him for that choice of words_ ) whispering about what not.  
  
Dean shoots him a concerned glance when he Castiel lands and Castiel hopes that he doesn’t notice the panic in his eyes. Several feathers fell off during the flight and are currently sailing down to the linoleum floor of the motel room. The tips are almost black now, not a trace of the pearly white colour left. As they touch the floor, they flame up in that heavenly light he’s seen so many times and the feathers disappear in a flash of brightness. He stares at the spot on the floor, trying to catch his breath, until he is snapped back into reality by Dean’s rough voice and a hand on his forearm. 

His back pops as he stands up and he wonders if he’s miserable even by human standards.

-

Castiel doesn’t find grace in Brazil. 

He does, however, find a few monkeys. They are hanging from tall trees, eating collected fruit and sharing it with each other. They all stop their activities as Castiel walks by, and he touches their minds, filling them with peace. 

Deep in the forest, he senses another presence at the edge of his consciousness and keeps his angel killing sword close so that he will be able to get a hold of it in time to fend off an attacker. Nothing happens for several moments, then a branch snaps behind him and Castiel twirls around, hand already at the shaft of his sword.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t poor little Castiel going for a walk. All alone, are you?” It’s a light voice calling out and the demon steps forth, wearing a female host body almost completely dressed in black. Castiel finds it very fitting.

“What do you want?” He asks and takes two steps backward.

The demon takes three forward and they start circling each other in the open meadow, eyes locked.

“Oh, I’m not passing up on the chance to take out one of the fluffy cloudtoppers,” she smirks, tossing a knife between her hands. “Daddy’s gonna be pleased for this one.”

She lunges forward at an impressive speed, but Castiel is faster. He grabs her hair from behind and presses a palm against her forehead and with a flash of light and a high-pitched scream, it’s all over.

Her body thumps against the grass below and suddenly, it’s so impossibly hard to breathe. The meadow swims in and out of focus and Castiel forces himself to take deep breaths until the world stops spinning.

-

One afternoon in June, Castiel eats four crackers from a greenish bag lying on the table by the door. They’re in a run-down motel with brown walls with a hideous floral pattern and mismatched rugs that might have been orange at some point but now looks more like that long forgotten banana in the fruit bowl. They’ve told Sam now, about the falling, and the youngest Winchester is doing all he possibly can to help. They called Bobby as well, the both of them researching and tracking every trace of supernatural activity they can find in search of the lost grace.

The salty crackers come up the same way they went down not a minute after he ate them and Castiel spits the foul-tasting goo into a yellow-looking toilet bowl. Dean strokes him over the back as he coughs up the last remains of his snack with firm, strong hands running down his spine. In a different circumstance, the gesture might have been weird, but Castiel doesn’t mind, just focuses on the feeling of rough hands on his back.

Sam is standing in the doorway to the bathroom, babbling about digestion and how Castiel’s stomach isn’t used to actually having something in it and maybe Jimmy is (was?) gluten intolerant-

Castiel says nothing, just spits into the bowl and wonders when the foul taste will leave his mouth.

He has been looking for months, and has not yet found a single trace of his former grace. Castiel is falling fast, and there’s no one at the bottom to catch him.

-

When the last grey feather comes off, Castiel is grateful to find Dean alone in their current motel room. He lands right behind him as the hunter is pulling out a bottle of beer from the fridge.

Dean jumps as he turns around and finds himself face to face with the falling (fallen?) angel and casually says, “Cas, what’s up?” in a failed attempt to cover up for the scare he got from Castiel’s sudden appearance. That’s when he notices the tears running down the angels’ cheeks.

“Holy shit, Cas, are you okay? What happened?” with an uncharacteristic amount of genuine concern in his voice.

“Don’t blaspheme,” Castiel manages out before he breaks out in a heart-wrenching sob. Dean hesitatingly places a hand on the middle of Castiel’s back, guiding him to sit down on the bed closest to the door.

“Cas, man, you gotta tell me what’s going on,” Dean says and hands Castiel the opened bottle of beer he was holding. Castiel takes a few gulps and starts off with a shaky voice.

“It’s my wings, they’re…. they’re black. Completely black. Just like Lucifer’s was, right before he-“, Castiel is cut of by another sob escaping his lips. “I don’t think I can fly anymore, Dean.”

Dean hasn’t moved his hand from the spot on Castiel’s back and he starts making circles with it in an attempt to sooth the angel. They sit in silence for a while, broken only by Castiel’s occasional sob.

“Black wings sound awesome though. Very bad-ass,” Dean says a while later, still rubbing circles into Castiel’s back. The angel has calmed down by now, a few stray tears still running down his cheeks, but he can’t help but smile slightly at Dean’s words. “C’mon, scoot over,” Dean says, pushing at Castiel’s shoulder. “If you’re basically mortal, you’re gonna need some sleep.”

Castiel complies hesitatingly, kicking his shoes off and lying down on the bed, shifting so that Dean can fit next to him. The hunter pulls the covers over the both of them and lazily slings an arm over Castiel’s body. 

Then, Dean seems to realize exactly what he is doing, and sits up like he’s been tazored. “I- uh. I didn’t- Sorry. I just thought… That was stupid of me. I just thought you might want some company and- I’m gonna go take a shower, you rest, okay?” Castiel just glared at him from under the covers, wich would have looked a lot more intimidating, were his eyes not red and puffy from the recent crying. “No. Come back,” Castiel murmurs into the pillow and tugs at the hem of Dean’s shirt.

“I- alright,” Dean agrees after a beat of silence and crawls back under the covers, arm once again slung over Castiel’s frame. It’s oddly comfortable, and soon enough, sleep hits him like a ton of bricks.

That’s how Sam finds them later, curled together in each other’s arms, both of them fast asleep. The younger brother kicks his shoes off by the door and drops the books he picked up at the library on the kitchen counter. “About freaking time,” he mumbles to himself as he slides into his own, cold bed, a small smile on his lips.

-

“You just make a loop like this, wrap the end around it and then you pull it through, like this” Dean says and shows him the knot again. He is teaching Castiel, who is sitting on the floor with one leg bent in front of him, to properly tie his shoelaces and he finds it a fairly vexing task.

“No, no, you have to pull the loop through the hole, the one in the middle,” Dean instructs for the umpteenth time and sighs.

Sam is out again, buying food at the local supermarket since the diner in the small town they’re staying in, apparently close on Sundays.

They’re in the middle of another knot when the front door opens with a bang and a red-faced Sam bursts in, waving a phone in one hand and a box of paper towels in the other.

“Cas, it’s Bobby. On the phone, I mean. He’s found traces of angel grace, two states over. Apparently there’s this demon, which seems to have the ability to do… angel stuff, I don’t know. And I stole some paper towels.” Sam rambles. “You coming?”

Dean stands up and catches the box of towels when Sam tosses it his way. ”My, my, Sam, never knew you had it in ya. My little brother, aspiring thief.”

“Shut up, will you? I was holding it when Bobby rang and I came here as fast as I could. Forgot to put it back. Are you coming or not?” He asked again.

“Cas?”, Dean says and the angel stands up. 

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Let’s gank this sucker.”

Dean doesn’t stop laughing for a good five minutes.

-

The drive doesn’t take long, the soft rumbling of the Impala soothing Castiel into sleep, head resting on the window.

Bobby calls them twice during the drive, giving directions to an old warehouse where he is almost completely sure the demon-slash-angel is hiding. He can’t really tell them what to do with it though. Nothing like it has ever been seen before. 

So when the Winchester brothers and Castiel park the car behind a bush half a mile from the old warehouse (Dean winches as the branches brush against the side of his baby), they pick up the traditional rock-salt loaded guns, the demon killing knife, a knife made of pure silver (just in case) and a couple of bottles of holy water. 

The warehouse isn’t big, but the roof is a good 9 meters up and the floor is wet. It’s seemingly empty when the tree boys step inside and for a while, they just stand there, hands their guns and knives respectively. Castiel is growing impatient when suddenly a sing-song voice declares; “Oh, I have visitors? I didn’t notice you there. How rude of me.” And the echoes of the female voice bounce back from the walls around them, making it impossible to determine the direction of the source of the voice.

Suddenly, a familiar flap of wings is heard and Castiel gasps. In front of the three boys a demon in standing, wearing a female host body, like the one in the forest, all long legs and high heels, chocolate brown hair flowing in gentle waves down her back. What draws the shocked reaction out of Castiel though, are the wings, brilliantly white and pure attached to her back, the tips touching the concrete floor. _Castiel’s wings._

Judging from the Winchester brothers’ reactions, they can see them too. Dean’s eyes are widened in shock and Sam’s mouth is slightly open, as if he’s trying to say something, but failing.

To Castiel’s human eyes, the wings do look pretty spectacular. They’re catching and reflecting the faint light from the fluorescent lamps above, making the wings glow with a soft, white light. The feathers are short and soft at the base close to the shoulder blades and increasing in length out to the tips.

“Hello boys. Welcome to my humble home. I was wondering when you’d come after me.” The demon purrs, gently flapping her (Castiel’s) wings. “Hello Castiel. I believe I’ve got something of yours.”

“I believe you do,” Castiel replies.

“So, we can make this easy or we could make this really, really hard,” Dean pipes in. “Your choice, sunshine.”

The demon leans forward and her eyes flash black as she blinks. “Oh, I’ve never stepped down from a challenge. No reason to start now. Plus, I think these new additions suit me quite well.” She smiles a slow smirk, body tense and ready to lunge forward at any second.

Suddenly, she’s right in front of Sam and Castiel barely has time to think _oh, she can fly, too_ before the younger Winchester is thrown in to the far wall, knocking him unconscious. Dean shouts his name once, panic and worry crossing his face, before turning back towards the demon.

“Are you really gonna pick this fight, boy? The power of heaven and hell in perfect balance, trapped inside my body. You don’t stand a chance.” She lunges toward Dean, knife in hand, and the impact of her body against his knocks Dean to the ground.

Castiel moves forward without hesitation and curses the slow speed of his human body. The demon has Dean pinned to the ground, his struggling only making the demon tighten her grip on him. Her knife is mere centimeters from Dean’s throat when Castiel’s blade slides into her back, piercing her heart from behind. He pulls her body up from Dean and pushes her away as hard as he can as familiar white light is pouring out of her eyes, mouth and back wound. Castiel’s grace.

For a second, the entire room is filled by the pure white energy before it flickers a few times and goes out like a candle in the wind. 

The demon pulls the angel blade out of her back, grimacing slightly, and the she coughs a laugh as it clatters to the ground and she starts clapping her hands, sarcastically slow. “Good job, pretty boy. You just killed your own grace.” Feathers are raining down from her wings and they turn grey and black in the same way Castiel’s did just a couple of days ago. 

The remainder of the wings turns into something remotely resembling ash, pouring down into two small piles on the floor. Castiel can only stare as his wings turn to dust in front of his eyes. Everything that happens next is all a big blur. Castiel barely registers Dean stabbing the demon with Ruby’s knife and her lifeless body thumping to the floor. Then there’s a hand on his back and how did he end up sitting on the floor? “Cas. Cas? You okay there?” Dean asks although he probably knows that Castiel is anything but okay. Castiel nods anyway, and Dean says “I’m just gonna check on Sam, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

From his position on the cold, wet floor, Castiel sees Dean hauling Sam to his feet and half-carrying, half-dragging his brother out the door. He hears the door of the Impala shutting as well, so Dean most likely put Sam to rest inside the car. 

Dean is back by Castiel’s side then, sinking down on the floor to sit next to him, hand once again rubbing circles into his back. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry. If I’d known-“ He cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. 

“I miss them, Dean,” Castiel says, and he’s not sure himself if he means his wings, his brothers and sisters in heaven or his grace. 

Dean most likely doesn’t know either, but he says “I know, Cas. I know,” and shift so that they are face to face. Castiel finds himself staring into those impossibly green eyes that only his human (permanently human now, it seems) vision can see, and then he takes a deep breath and closes the distance between their faces.

There’s nothing passionate about the kiss, dry and chapped lips barely moving against a pair of equally dry and chapped lips, but it’s full of _need._ Castiel needs Dean close, needs his presence as much as he needs oxygen, as if he pressed himself tight enough to Dean’s body, everything would be all right. Dean lets him, only moving away to breathe when nessicary.

It’s not all right, of course not, it won’t be all right for a long, long time, but for the moment being, it will make do.

-

Sam wakes up a couple of hours later, a bump the size of America forming on the back of his head and a few bruises on his back, but otherwise okay. They’re on the road again, Sam sprawled across the back seat, head propped up on Castiel’s folded trench coat and the ex-angel sitting quiet in the front seat. Dean is silent as well, keeping his eyes on the road and drumming a rhythm only he can hear on the steering wheel.

They drive in silence for several hours and none of the travelers seems to know exactly where they’re going. They stop for gas and snacks by a small gas station in the outskirts of a quiet, sleepy town. Sam is asleep in the back seat again and Dean is filling the Impala with gas when Castiel walks out of the shop, a bag of candy bars and soda cans in one hand, Dean’s wallet in the other. He hands it back without a word and Dean pockets it with a small nod.

Castiel is the first to break the silence. “I apologize for my actions, Dean. It was reckless of me. I know you have no feelings of that kind toward me, and I was silly for taking advantage of you like that. I’m sorry.”

Dean is silent for a while when Castiel finishes his little speech, one he was repeating to himself while inside the store so that he wouldn’t say anything dumb. The hunter fingers the gas pump for a second and then says, “I don’t mind, you know. Whatever happened there, I didn’t mind.” 

Castiel frowns. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Dean barks a laugh at that, quiet so that he won’t wake Sam up. “Yeah, Cas, I’m sure.”

Neither of them is sure who closes the distance again, but it’s possible that they simply met at the middle. The kiss isn’t just raw sorrow and guilt this time, it’s something else, affection and quiet _hope_. A car alarm goes off somewhere behind them but neither human mind, just focusing on the feeling and sweet taste of each other.

Sam snorts from his position in the back seat and turns over so he’s lying in a more comfortable position in his side. “Idiots,” he mumbles into the leather of the back seat before he once again drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

It’s not alright, not yet, but for now, it’s more than good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short drabble but ended up... a bit longer. Comments are always welcome, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
